


Veritably Flustered Demon (or: A Dark and Smoky Beach Day)

by WriteDreamLie



Series: Crossing Paths [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Beach Day, F/F, Ineffable Wives, Spot the new headcannon, There's more than one demon in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 07:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteDreamLie/pseuds/WriteDreamLie
Summary: Our Ineffable Wives decide it's high time for a beach day. They come across three plucky youngsters rather desperately in need of some angelic assistance.





	Veritably Flustered Demon (or: A Dark and Smoky Beach Day)

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Crossing Paths series, wherein I take the most minor of parallels between fandoms and make them into one-shots.

“Beach day!” Crowley announced, stepping through the shop door in sandals, sundress and sun hat, long hair blowing in the warm summer breeze. A wicker basket hung on her arm, already filled with provisions: wine and snacks to last them the day, and well into the evening if Crowley had anything to say about it.

“Come on, angel, it would take a miracle to get a clear spot in the sand this late in the day!”

She chuckled lightly to herself as she sauntered further into the shop. The two had decided after the Apoca-not to take a brief respite from miracles, lest the continued frivolity of them bring Heaven and Hell down upon them both. However, after about a fortnight of this, they’d both given up and gone back to their usual miracle spending. Heaven and Hell seemed content to let them have all the miracles they needed, for now at least.

“Crowley, dear, really,” Aziraphale called from the back room, sounding slightly disappointed. The angel appeared in the main area of the shop before Crowley could respond, sporting a pair of woven sandals much more practical than Crowley’s own, a loose, billowing blouse and a flower-printed skirt. “I really do wish you wouldn’t read my mind so clearly, it makes it very difficult to surprise you.”

“Angel,” said Crowley, tugging playfully on a stray blonde curl peeking out from beneath Aziraphale’s ribbon-wrapped hat, “you never_ stop_ surprising me.”

-

Crowley miracled them both to the seaside, though not quite on the beach. Rather, they ended up a few blocks away, giving Aziraphale a chance to rummage briefly through a few of the kitschy shops on their way down to the shore.

At first, Crowley wondered if it was just later than she’d originally thought—after one has lived more than 6,000 years, keeping track of time in hours is a difficult concept to keep hold of. Then she thought maybe it was something to do with her sunglasses, and she slipped them off to inspect them. This elicited a soft gasp from Aziraphale, who made no secret of her love for Crowley’s eyes. While the angel doted on the demon, said demon examined her glasses with a glare usually reserved for particularly troublesome plants. But there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the glasses, and it was still getting darker with them off, besides.

Crowley blinked. The ominous fog that had rolled in unannounced did not dissipate.

Worse, it felt familiar.

Aziraphale stopped walking.

“Crowley… Is this…”

“Yeah, it definitely is.” There was no mistaking the demonic feel of the fog. It was pervasive, out of place, and inherently sinister. But… “I don’t think it’s here for us, though.”

Aziraphale frowned. “What ever do you mean? Who else would be at the beach in this?” She waved a hand through the fog, tendrils curling around her neatly manicured fingers.

Crowley had no idea. So, rather than about-facing and leaving the way they’d come, she led them closer to the beach from whence the fog was emanating. The two stopped at a pier that separated the street from the sand, and Aziraphale muttered a quick exclamation of shock.

“They’re just _children._”

On the shady beach, down by the water, were in fact three children: a young girl, just tying her hair back in a ribbon; a younger boy, sitting in the sand with a book; and youngest of all, a baby who appeared to be gnawing enthusiastically on a rather large rock.

“Are they… You don’t have demon children down there, do you?”

Crowley shrugged. “Not that I know of, but those three aren’t demons. They’re its target.”

“Oh.” The sound carried all of Aziraphale’s heavenly love and regret. “Can we do something?”

“No,” Crowley said with a shake of her head. “I know this demon’s work. He’s in it for the long haul, and his work’s further reaching than either of us could hope to take down in less than a dozen human life spans.”

“Goodness!” Aziraphale’s hand flew over her heart. It was awful to think of these three being followed, as if they were being hunted for sport. There had to be something… “Ah!” She thrust her bag full of beach accoutrements towards Crowley, who barely managed to catch the handles in her free hand as Aziraphale turned back to the water, hands together as if in prayer.

“Angel… Don’t do anything dangerous.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She closed her eyes, and her features became that of a beatific cherub. A slight glow surrounded her as she worked, burning away an inch or so of the mist. It whirled back in with a vengeance when she was done. “That should do it,” Aziraphale said with a satisfied nod.

“Do what?” Crowley asked. Her eyes darted up and down the beach as if this particular act of angelic miracle work would bring the demons on them like leeches sensing blood in the water.

“I just gave them a little heavenly hope.” Aziraphale took her bag back with a smile. “You said this demon would be on them for a long while, right? All I’ve done is ensure they won’t lose hope, that they’ll always have at least enough strength to carry on, despite the trials. If that’s all I can offer, I only hope it’s enough.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and brought it to her lips. “I’m sure it will be.”

She felt the moment he arrived. Bad intentions radiated off him, like heat bleeding from a fire, the fog acting as his preceding smoke. Crowley glanced further down the pier to the other end of the beach. A figure, barely a shadow in the mist, approached. He felt like fire, looked like soot, sounded like tuberculosis.

“Come on, angel,” she said, pulling Aziraphale away. “Let’s leave them to it.”

Aziraphale cast one last, sad look at the children on the beach, then nodded and miracled them both far away, to another place, another beach where there were not trios of children about to receive extremely sad news from a demon in disguise.

-

Some decades later, a young woman came to the bookshop. It was closed and had been for months, as the owner was away doing some travelling with his partner, though the young woman didn’t know that.

She turned the envelope in her hands over and over, considering. Her mittens scratched across the paper, her breath fogged the air in front of her face. There was hardly anyone else on the snow-covered street, no one to witness if she left the mail or left herself without leaving anything at all.

She took a quick gulp of ice-cold air. Then she practically leapt forward and, before she could stop herself, shoved the letter into the mail slot in the door. It clanged closed with a ringing finality, proud as a brass bell announcing an angel getting its wings.

The letter was brief and expressed thanks for something the young woman couldn’t quite describe herself. Still, she’d written it on her nicest stationary with her newest pen, before she’d even had a chance to see the ink play across the pages of her latest notebook. She’d gone a little overboard with the signoff, the simple “B.B.” extended to an ornate piece of calligraphy she was rather proud of and a little sad to give away. But this was important. She knew it was, even if she couldn’t quite explain why to anyone that asked.

She stared at the mail flap for another few seconds, then stuck her hands in her pockets and marched away.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I called Mr. Poe a demon, fight me. No one's that stupid unless they're that way on purpose. And the coughing? Definitely demonic.


End file.
